


And the Lord speaketh

by kittybenzedrine



Category: SCP Foundation
Genre: Cain Shows Up Briefly, Gen, Minor Character Appearance, Minor shipping, Religion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Symbolism, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 16:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17584484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittybenzedrine/pseuds/kittybenzedrine
Summary: In his dream, Able hears God.A small piece on Able, centering on peace and forgiveness with some very minor m/f shipping.





	And the Lord speaketh

In his dream, while Able's body is reforming, he hears God.

Able has never actually heard the voice of God. God comes to his different than he does others, as a wash of emotion rather than a voice, but he figures since he's paying attention, it's technically listening.

And it has been so long. So, unbearably long since God has spoken to him. The calm that ebbs over him is like a breath of fresh air, like the clean scent of what was once his home. If he focuses hard enough Able can almost feel the hands of God cupping his malformed, unfinished face as he lays half-formed in the cold coffin. God soothes him just as his mother would when he was a child. Calms him in such a way that it's almost like the past few thousand years never existed in the first place. As if the rage that took over after the betrayal was never there to begin with.

When Able is soothed, so calm that his own conscience could turn off into an eternal sleep, God begins to speak.

 _Remember this calm_ , the emotions tell him.  _Be soothed, for I have not abandoned you, my child. Need not for you to spill the blood of your brothers and sisters_ and he recalls the face of every man and woman he's killed, sees the face of the Agent that had bested him over and over only to die in a stupid accident  _for your skills are only needed in War._

He can feel something through his hair, almost like the hands, brushes across his eyelids, cheekbones, down to gently cross over his left breast. To the heart beating slowly, sluggishly in his chest. And the calm is like a drug in his veins, his muscles and bones relaxed for the first time in so long. If God wishes for him to be calm, so long as God can give him this, Able will do his best. With his body limp and movable, he's sat up and set to where he's upright but on his knees.

A field materializes under his knees, the grass so green, the warmth of the sun familiar on his bronze skin. The land is barren of anything but grass and he leans in, hoping to see something, anything. Clovers, moss, even a different kind of grass. His search is rewarded, and something grows in front of him in fast-forward. The stem is strong and sturdy, though the thing looks rather small. Little and cute. A bud grows up at the very top, and- oh. It's a flower, he think.

The flower blooms, the petals unfolding to reveal a brilliant bright blue. Like the colors of the sky and ocean combining into one. The small triangular petals are so beautiful, the color so familiar that he can almost taste it. He associates that color with something, he knows he does, but he cannot make himself recall. Just as soon as the flower has bloomed, a larger one sprouts behind it. It grows tall, much taller than the other, and unfurls into an almost identical flower. But the color of this one is red. No, not red. Darker, deeper in color than a simple red. It's crimson, the same color as the tattooing marring most of his body. That flower is himself then, he gets that. 

And smaller ones begin to sprout and bloom. Each little flower under him and the blue flower are a deep violet. A mix of the two flowers. Be fruitful and multiply, God had told Able's parents. So the flowers are the children of him and the blue, Able thinks. And he recognizes the blue. He does. The color must belong to the woman he's to know and make his wife, in some way or another. But he can't place it. Perhaps the hint lays in the field of flowers before him. Though that feels like a joke, because Able's never been known to spot the obvious.

Before he can ask, beg God to give him clarification, the field fades out and reforms into something that looks an awful like a normal room in the Foundation. Someone's room. There's a modern bed in the corner, a simple chest of drawers and a nice desk pushed against the wall. There's a man hunched over the desk, eyes scanning over the piles of documents laid out before him. And Able recognizes the profile of the face he's looking at, because it's almost a mirror of his own.

An arm comes up. It's covered with a long sleeve, but the hand is clearly not human. He's heard of this. What happened to- to _him_. It's metal, no longer organic. It runs through the hair that's much shorter than Able remembers, curled up around  _his_ face like it was when they were children and their hair still hadn't grown long like Father's. Black curls spring back into place, and after a moment, Able's perspective begins to shift.

He's in front of  _him_ now, so close that if this were real, he'd be able to feel the traitor's breath on his face. Maybe the traitor is real, because when he looks up from the documents on his desk, the sorrow is immediate. Able looks into those blue eyes, the ones he look to for assurance as a child, the last thing he saw as he was bludgeoned to death with the jawbone of one of his dead cattle, and sees the tears begin to swell in them. As if Cain can see him.

 _Forgive_ , the soft rush of emotion urges,  _for_ _he has suffered just as long as you have_. 

Cain reaches to the wall, his mouth parting as the tears finally spill over. Able can feel the cold metal fingers touch either side of his mostly-formed face, and he wonders if Cain is seeing the phantom of Able's face, but not as it is now. If perhaps his brother is seeing the mangled mess of blood and bone that he made in a jealous fit. Cain starts to speak, digs his fingers in, but the vision blinks out before Able can even hear the first word. And he hates the traitor, has for so long that it feels like second nature. But he wants,  _yearns_ to hear what his brother has to say.

It is a sin. Able knows good and well that it is an unspeakable sin to question God and his will, but Able needs to know. Why does he need to give up this rage now? Who is the blue flower?  _What_ is the flower? Why, after so long, does he suddenly need to forgive the traitor?

God does not answer.

Able's eyes open, and he's suffocating, freezing in the coffin, and he slams the lid open. He scrambles out, moves so quickly that his foot catches on the edge and he falls to his hands and knees to the cold concrete. His breath comes in full, heavy gasps. It's been so long since God talked to him, and this was quite the load for one talk. He needs to calm himself, God said. And he needs to forgive the traitor eventually. Apparently, Able also needs to follow the instructions his parents were given an eternity ago. Know the woman, the flower, in every sense of the way. Wed her, take her to bed, multiply.

The flower, the flower, what is that fucking flower?

He thinks about the gardening book he read once, scowling his way through yet another meeting for the task force, before he, well... Before he did what he does best. He tries desperately to remember any of the flowers in it, to recall the flowers with the triangular petals. But the book is just a blur.

He thinks back to the stuffy office, sitting in an uncomfortably padded chair. The agents chastise the team to listen, but no one bothers to pay any more attention than before. The girl in the seat next to him sets her camera down, rolls her eyes as the agents try to gain everyone's attention. Their eyes meet and she smiles faintly, like all of their insubordination is an inside joke. It  _is_ an inside joke at this point he thinks, looking into those brilliant blue eyes. So bright, like the colors of the sky and ocean combining into-

With the air rushing out of his lungs, he realizes the flower is an iris.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always super appreciative of comments and kudos, it's great to hear from you folks!
> 
> I have [my blog](http://iwillpooponthefloor.tumblr.com) on tumblr, if you'd like to check that out, though it's mostly unrelated content. I'm not active much on there, but I'll get back to you if you message me!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
